His Angel
by VillainousVivs
Summary: Y'know what? I'm gonna leave it like this for while.


Space, to some eyes, was boring. And it was. Lightyears and light years of nothing but dark energy and matter, sometimes a solar system or a galaxy, some hobo asteroids and black holes, but in the whole, it was easy to bore. But out of that lousy excuse of a universe, something stood out. And that something was life.

This planet didn't carry life. Not anymore, no. It was large and black and of ominous aura, with a triple ring around itself and a moon. Its sun, though strong in magnetic pull, was smaller than twice its size. But this wasn't about that planet; at least not entirely.

It all began within the outer ring, where one of the unusually big asteroids broke out of the planet's gravitational pull and plunged towards the next planet in line, and, likewise, it was thrown out yet again. Much like playing hot potatoes, the asteroid eventually escape the solar system. And for a while it seemed to be free-floating, but before long the cycle repeated. Again and again until it had lost most of its size with expected contact with other likewise objects, almost small enough to be pathetic.

It ended its extraterrestrial journey when finally, a small, remote planet grabbed it firmly, and pulled it in.

For the few lucky ones who saw the spark as it entered the atmosphere, it was beautiful, just as any other comet would when landing. Little did they know the wars this harmless little thing would lead, of grief and rage and tear and heartache. And it landed.

Not in any town or near any civilization, thankfully, but beside a long, ancient river at the foot of the tallest and most massive mountain range on the planet. The Quandering Peaks, the mountain was called, and because it was such a large haven of wild, unexplored, and deadly things, none of three major species had ever lived here, save for the dwarves, and they only stayed for nigh on seven thousand years. And so, in cloak of night, rock, and wilderness, the comet landed. It did not cool for three months, resting in the little dent it made in the planet's surface. There it listened to the birds and insects and waters and winds, and at last it woke. Perhaps not the rock itself, but what it carried. And what it carried was both great and terrible.

Once again in the dead of night, the rock moved. At first it looked as if a dark liquid was oozing out of it, sticky and unreflecting. Then the liquid began to assume form. Some said, through historical remarks, that it was a raven. Some said a demon, some a monster, some a menacing devil. But in truth it was a cloak. An anonymous, abstract, uninviting cloak. And despite its smooth appearance, no light, of sun, moon, star, or fire, had ever reflect off of it, and it casted a long shadow. Perhaps because it was a big cloak.

There was no one visible under that cloak, though; only more shadow and darkness. The only two things to question of this shadow of a cloak-besides that fact that it felt of death-was that it was floating, and that it had a small, glowing stone in place where one would put the pin. The glow did not reach the inside of the shadowed cloak, of course, but it was still very surprising to see something so dark carrying anything of pure light. The stone was ovalish, made with supreme workmanship and delicacy, with a silver, vine-like binding. And, perhaps the only shared characteristic with its carrier, it was floating. With the cloaked figure, of course, but many saw it to be a thing of its own, apart from the mysterious cloak, and they were neither wrong nor right.

The Cloak floated up the hole and studied his surroundings. Making no sound whatsoever, he went upstream the river, on and on, until a sign of community was spotted. It was abandoned four ages ago by the dwarves that once dwelled here, but buildings still remain. Torn, corrupted, and thriving of moss, but remaining nonetheless. He was curious and interested in them, so he wandered among them for a few days before moving on. Down the long and wide valley he went, never again stopping for a former dwelling site, until he found a gap wide enough on the western side of the valley, where the mountains rested for just a mile, giving him an opening to the plains. And on he went to them.

Mountains rolled into hills, and hills rolled into grass. It was a plain, big and wide and vast, of wild horses and plants and rabbits. That and many more living things. Trees were crowded around small, muddy puddles, and the rest was simply flatness. More and more and more. But the sunset there was beautiful, purple and pink, and the winds were soft, warm and cooling. The animal paid no mind to the cloak but to avoid him, and he went on to see the first of the three species to meet his path.

Horses here were mostly wild, but a number of them had reins and saddles and a rider on their back. Those were the tamed ones. But it was not they who caught the cloak's attention; it was their riders. Fifteen of them, strong and proud as a tiger, the men were on a hunting trip to gather prey and build bond, but mostly for the joy of it. The animals scurried out of there, avoiding them much more than the cloak, and they daren't look back. The dark figure remained, unmoving to the men's presence. Not once did the men notice him, for a spell he had cast prevented that, and they were too drunk in their hunt anyway. They did not notice when something out of this world followed them home, silently and floating, until they arrived at a busy town to sell their kill. He the follower awaited nightfall. And when it fell, he began his work.

Little by little, stories and rumors grew in this town as the number of missing people increased. And when it became too many to be a false hypothesis, they took the most beautiful woman in town and declared her a witch and burnt her alive. But that did not stop their numbers from vanishing, oh no it did not. And when people abandoned this town, the Cloak moved onto the next. One by one, the cities disappeared, and when King Pyphoon fled from his throne, the Kingdom of Idylium disbanded. Some tried to cross to the West through the Volcanic Ranges, which was an act of desperation, considering that dwarves do not look kindly upon trespassers and the giant, carnivorous birds had a taste in dwarf-like life forms. The others followed Pyphoon's footsteps and went to their northern neighbor, the Arians. And as Aria's rulers were fair and had knowledge of magic, they at once fled to the West though the Northern Pass, to the elves. They knew, and the elves knew, that it was not something to be tempered with. So they fled and shut their gates, letting the Pine Woods silent forevermore.

The East was now empty; there were only humans and a few elves here, perhaps a dwarf or two on the outskirts of the Volcanic Ranges, but not after that, as the dwarves too had bolted their Eastern gates. The birds have left their home for those who were friend with elves, and the four-legged vertebrates, large and small, migrated East through their own means. The bees stayed, as did some other insects and oddities, but in the whole it was now silent and hollow.

Perfect.

Perfect for he had planned. But before that, he needed a few more things. Living, breathing things to do his deeds.


End file.
